


Envy

by Lillielle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel stalking, Angst, Envy's not your color, Gen, Implied sexy times, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillielle/pseuds/Lillielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do not own Supernatural. A/U. Emma wants what she can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She watches him. And she knows it's wrong. Knows her brothers and sisters would question her, cast her down with him, if they caught her. Unseemly angel wants to rut with the humans, they would mock. But it isn't the humans that Emma is interested in. It's him.

Castiel. The angel in a trench coat, the angel with the spiky hair and bright blue eyes. The angel who wanted to become God. She can always see an overlay of his true form when she watches him, well, spies on him would probably be more correct. He fascinates her. He is not simply a tool to be wielded by Heaven. He understands free will. He loves the Winchesters, Sam and Dean, and through watching him, Emma can almost understand what love is.

She's never been sought out, never been appreciated. She does her work quietly, humming along in the background noise. When Lucifer arose, she did her duty and she wept when Castiel was murdered. The joy that she felt when he came back rivaled even her love for her Father, and the realization frightened her. She did her best to stay away, but she couldn't, not for long.

Castiel never notices her. Her Vessel is a mild-looking, unassuming girl. A little over eighteen with dark blonde hair curling over her shoulders and a too-slender body. The only thing startling about her is the vivid green eyes. But she keeps her lashes lowered as she peeps through them, watching Castiel sit awkwardly at the bar with Sam and Dean on either side. Cas doesn't seem to know what to do, and the thought is endearing. Granted, Emma doesn't know what to do either, but she has cloaked herself in shadow, hidden away in this slightly dusty corner. If he wants to, Cas can probably find her, notice her. But he doesn't even look around.

Her smile is bitter as she watches him down six shots in a row and look at Dean in mild befuddlement, as if to question what is supposed to happen. It should be her in Dean's place, she can't help but think, and immediately reproach herself for. It is Castiel's right to surround himself with these humans. These Winchesters, and their friends.

And in the night, when she is crouched most uncomfortably in a very cramped and narrow hotel closet, Emma concedes that it is his right to enjoy those Winchesters in more...earthy ways, as his mouth trails down Dean's neck, as Sam pretends not to watch from the next bed, a blanket thrown ostentatiously over his lap. She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle her ragged breathing, cursing the limitations of these human vessels, not understanding what the prickle of her nipples beneath her blouse means, or the growing heaviness between her legs. She doesn't understand why her face flushes and her heart throbs faster while she watches Castiel unbutton Dean's shirt and slide it off his shoulders, why Sam's hands have disappeared beneath that blanket.

She disappears quietly, using all her stealth, and slips into her cold, lonely bed three floors away, lying very still as her human vessel throbbed and ached in all the most delicious ways. When it stops, she finally drifts into an uneasy doze. Her dreams are full of Castiel, looming over her, his wings fully extended and arching above his head, his grace flaring to life around him. His mouth wet and hot against hers. When she wakes, she is panting, unfulfilled. Tears drip down her face, unnoticed.

He will not want her. He will never want her. He has his Winchesters and he is content.

And yet Emma cannot leave him alone. Cannot stop these brief, stolen, hidden moments, lurking in the corners, disappearing into the shadows. Watching them together. Laughing. Affectionate. The brush of Dean's callused fingers against Castiel's unshaven cheek. The way Sam always does up Castiel's tie before it is once again unruly. The way Cas's mouth quirks in that awkward half-smile when he is amused but unsure.

She watches and damns herself for it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The day Castiel catches her spying is dark. The sky fills with heavy storm clouds, as if even the weather senses Emma's bleakness. She is huddled at a bus stop, watching the rain drizzle down and the Impala idling only a block away. Rain has plastered her hair to her skull, soaked her clothes against her skin. She is miserable, but she can't stop watching as Dean slides into the Impala a block away. 

She blinks and suddenly, Castiel looms above her. A startled squeak escapes her lips as she sits, rigid, on the damp bench, water running down the back of her neck. She's afraid to move, afraid to speak. Afraid even to breathe.

"Why are you following us?" Castiel demands. His voice is that low, rumbling murmur that always makes her feel like her bones are melting. She looks up at him, focusing on the rough stubble on his chin, not daring to reply. What can she say? There is no answer good enough. Nothing that can explain the attraction she feels to him, like she will vanish, lost in the cosmos, if she takes her eyes off him for too long.

"Tell me," he says, low and frustrated, but still, Emma cannot speak, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her shivers more pronounced as the rain runs down her fingers.

His fingers suddenly encircle her arm, hard but still restrained, and in a blink, they are standing in a room. His hotel room, Emma dimly realizes, swaying on her feet. She is not very good at instant transport herself, and to be zapped away by someone else is a bit overwhelming. He deposits her in the only chair in the room, but does not back away. Then again, Castiel has never been good at this personal space thing, has he? Neither is Emma, but she always wants to be too far away. The closeness of human contact unnerves her.

"Emma," he finally says, and the shock of hearing her name from his lips makes her eyes round, her mouth drop open in an inelegant gape. He knows her? Knows her name? How can he?

"Emma, please. Why are you following us?" he questions again. Emma looks down at her sodden lap, twisting the wet fabric of her skirt between cold, trembling fingers. Water drips steadily off her, staining the chair and the carpet. She forgets that she can use her grace to dry herself off, forgets everything but the intense look in his blue eyes as he watches her, waiting patiently for her answer.

"You," she finally blurts out and squeezes her eyes shut, embarrassed color staining her cheeks. The silence hangs between them, growing deeper, more profound, until it is broken by the hotel room door slamming open and the Winchester brothers coming in, noisy and exuberant. Until they see her, that is, a puddle of a girl sitting stiffly in the corner, guarded by an angel in a trench coat.

"Who's that?" Sam asks. His hair flops into his eyes and he brushes it away with an impatient gesture that is nevertheless endearing.

"This is Emma," Castiel answers for her. "She is an angel. She has been following us."

Has she been that conspicuous? The blush deepens, and Emma can only peek through her lashes up at the three of them. They fill the room, crowding her against the wall with their mere presence, and she finds it difficult to breathe.

"Why?" Dean questions, leaning against the wall. He has not quite gone for a weapon yet, but Emma can see it in the ripple of his muscles, the way he holds himself. If she even hints at becoming a threat, he will kill her. Beside him, Sam looks the same.

"Me, apparently," Castiel sounds baffled.

"Why?" Dean is now looking directly at her, the word harsh, barked at her trembling form. She squeezes her hands together, unsure of how to proceed. She's not quite imagined this. Particularly not like this, this three-on-one confrontation.

"No one ordered me to," she hastens to assure them. She is disgusted at the wobble in her voice. She is an angel, damn it, not a cowering mouse. "I just...I..." she fumbles to a stop. How can she explain the fascination she has for Castiel when she can't even understand it herself? She looks up at Castiel, imploring him with her vessel's bright green eyes. She can't put her emotions into words. They are so new, so uncertain.

Still, Castiel seems to get the message. His own eyes widen and he nods.

"She is no threat," he announces to the other two. Sam nods and relaxes slightly, stepping away from the wall and sitting on the edge of the farthest bed. Dean, however, doesn't look so convinced.

"How do you know, Cas?" he demands. Castiel gestures toward her. She once again curses her vessel. She can't help it. The girl is pretty, but so tiny, so delicate. 

"So?" Dean snorts. "Lilith liked to possess children, if you recall, and she wasn't exactly fucking harmless, now was she."

"Emma is not a demon, Dean," Cas says calmly. "She is an angel. She is no threat to us or our mission."

"Then why is she here again?" Dean snorts. The side of his jacket falls back when he runs his hand through his hair and Emma can see the butt of a pistol protruding from his jeans. The thought of being shot with it makes her mouth dry a little. It won't kill  _her_ , just her vessel, but it will be painful and unpleasant and frightening, she knows that.

"Me," Castiel repeats. Emma shrinks back against the wall, doing her best to look as harmless as possible.

"So what do we do now then?" Dean asks, and against her will, Emma feels that odd, prickly heat spread through her body once more at the hoarse tones of the Righteous Man's question. 

"Talk?" Sam interjects. He has taken off his boots at some time and now lies fully on the bed, propped up against the headboard. "I mean, what else are we going to do? We can't just kill her. She hasn't done anything. And Cas vouches for her. So..."

"Fine," Dean acquiesces reluctantly, pushing away from the wall and slouching onto the next bed. Castiel remains standing, still uncomfortably close to Emma.

"Cas, sit down before you give the girl a heart attack, leaning over her like that," Dean snaps, but Emma can hear affection behind it, and it confuses her.

Castiel also looks confused as he willingly sits by Dean.

"She is an angel, she cannot have a heart attack from my proximity," Castiel states, and Sam bursts into laughter, coughing desperately to try and cover it up.

"It's a sayin...never mind," Dean says. His arm creeps around Castiel's shoulders, pulling him closer almost unconsciously. Emma's heart twinges as she stares at them, unable to keep the longing out of her eyes. It's more than the humanity of it. It's the closeness. The belonging. Castiel has found people to  _belong_ to, and Emma can't understand how.

"Well? Emma?" Sam prompts, almost gently, and she finds that her throat has locked up once more. She can barely breathe, much less blurt out everything that has been percolating in her mind the past several weeks.

"I'm sorry, I--I need to go," she finally blurts out, in a panic now, stumbling to her feet. One foot hooks around the leg of the chair and she ends up falling flat on her face, the carpet abrading her hands painfully. She lies there for a moment while she hears the commotion around her. How gentlemanly, she thinks, stifling a slightly bitter chuckle, before getting to her knees, and then her feet, and heading blindly for the door.

This time it is Sam who stops her, his hands broad and firm on her still damp shoulders.

"Stay," he whispers, and Emma finally nods in response, sinking down on the edge of the nearest bed. Her feet don't touch the floor, and she feels oddly vulnerable in a way she has never felt before.

Then they are all looking at her, pinning her in place with their gazes like a butterfly on a card, and Emma feels her chin wobble, her eyes glaze over with tears.

They belong to each other in ways the angelic host can never understand, but she wants to. Oh, how badly she wants to.

 


End file.
